


The Fic Graveyard

by saddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/M, Gen, M/M, Not!Fic, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-07-24 21:31:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddestboner/pseuds/saddestboner
Summary: This is all the stuff I'm definitely not finishing, all located in one handy post!





	1. James Gets Hurt

James’s hand doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but he’s not sure how much of that is due to actually, like, feeling better and how much of it is due to the painkillers the team doctor funneled down his throat while he got his hand sewn up.

It doesn’t look too bad either. Just a row of tiny black stitches—five in all—and some puffiness, but other than that, he got off lucky. He supposes he could have broken a finger, or worse. 

James is still a little loopy on painkillers when the clubhouse doors open and reporters file in for postgame comments. There’s no music coming from Victor’s boombox tonight, so he figures they ended up losing the game. 

“How’s the hand?” Greeney strolls up to James’s locker while he tries to button up his shirt one-handed.

“Hurts.” James looks down at his hand, at his gnarled finger, swollen and red. “It was a pretty deep cut.”

“Need some help?”

James glances up. Greeney wiggles his fingers at him and hikes an eyebrow. “I think I got it, man,” he says, shifting away from Greeney’s outstretched hands.


	2. Brawl Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. I started this after the Yankees/Tigers brawl last year.

José’s still fired up about it even hours later, after James has scrubbed the smeared eyeblack off his face and cleaned the blood and dirt out of the cut on his arm. He spends the whole car ride back to James’s condo yammering about Brett Gardner, pounding a fist into the center of his palm for emphasis. James just rolls his eyes and turns on the radio, flicking through stations until he lands on a country one.


	3. James/Jess + James/José Infidelityfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another infidelity fic.

James spends Christmas with Jess and the twins in the intensive care unit at the hospital, and then it’s right back to his offseason workouts, strict training regimens, and preparation for the upcoming season. Then it’ll be time for TigerFest in Detroit and, eventually, off to Lakeland for Spring Training.

The thing is, James has never been this distracted before. All he can think about is Jess lying in a tiny bed in a tiny room, decorated with paper snowflakes, a paltry fake tree sitting on the windowsill. She can’t even hold onto their babies because they spend most of the time in intensive care, growing and getting stronger, until the day James and Jess can finally take them home. 

It’s a necessary evil, they both understand that, but that doesn’t make it easier to deal with. And James knows Jess is having a hard time coping. At least she has a fleet of nurses to take care of her when James can’t be by her bedside.

James hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately either, jerking awake at the slightest sound, his fight-or-flight response going into overdrive. Or he sleeps right on through his alarm because he hasn’t been getting enough sleep and he’s late to the trainer’s or the gym and he’s already so behind he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to catch up.

That isn’t even taking into account the guilt he feels at leaving Jess and the twins at the hospital to get on with the rest of his life, while they’re stuck in stasis. Jess will spend a few more weeks at the hospital before she’s sent home too, but he knows she doesn’t want to go anywhere her babies aren’t. James saw how much it tore her up inside that first day, when the two of them watched over the babies in their incubators, connected to all kinds of tubes and wiring and machines and monitors. 

James knows the longer Jess is away, the more likely he is to stray from God’s righteous path. Jess has always been the more devout between the two of them, her gentle hand guiding James toward salvation and keeping him from straying. Without her by his side, he knows he’s at risk. Perhaps it’s selfish of him to rely on Jess to keep him on the straight and narrow path. It’s lazy and irresponsible, too, and he’s putting too much on Jess and not enough on himself. 

That doesn’t make it any less true, though. 

He can already see the cracks and fissures that have opened up since he’s been on his own. He and Jess had read scripture together every morning and prayed together every night since they first started dating. James hasn’t picked up his bible once since he’s been home from the hospital. He supposes he could call her up and they could read to each other over the phone, but she has more important things to be worrying about right now.

Jess comes back from the hospital a few weeks later, looking haggard and tired and haunted. James wishes he could do more for her, to sooth and comfort her. When he reaches out and tries to touch her, though, she flinches and pulls away. Trying to get her to eat is like pulling teeth, same with bathing and brushing her teeth. When she’s not sleeping—sometimes ten hours a day or more—she’s watching TV with a glazed-over look in her once bright, lively eyes. 

He thinks she might be depressed, but when he brings it up she just waves him off dismissively.


	4. Plotless Fisting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp!

James has never done anything like this before. 

Well, sure, he’s been _curious_ before. He’s searched out his fair share of porn on the internet with a hand down his boxers, but he’s never actually tried to test out his theory. 

Until now, that is. 

It just seems so much easier when you’re hunched over a computer screen at three in the morning, desperately jerking off while your wife sleeps soundly in the bedroom down the hall. 

“Spread your legs.” José taps James on his knee.

“What?” James stares up at him from his vulnerable position on the bed.

José gives him an unimpressed look, accented with an arch of the eyebrows. And, not for the first time, James wonders if he grooms them because they always seem so neat. _Everything_ about José is trim and neat and pulled together. James wonders if that’s why he chose José to put his theory to practice. It surely isn’t because he actually _likes_ him. They’re hardly even friends.

José huffs indignantly. “Can’t do anything if you don’t let me in,” he quips, wagging a half-empty tube of lube at James. 

James’s face burns at the mental image those words conjure up. “I’ve never done this before,” he points out.

“First time for me too,” José says, grinning crookedly. “Touches me right here that you trust me.” He puts a hand over his heart and gives James a wink.

James ignores that, kicks at him gently. He tries to sound gruff. “You’re not cute.”

“I think I’m very cute. And I know you agree.” José nudges at James’s knee again.

This time, James complies, letting his legs fall open. José crawls in and settles between James’s thighs, pulling one of his legs into his lap. He plucks at the waistband of James’s boxers, working them down his hips inch by inch. 

James is already good and loose, warmed over inside from a heady mix of beer and what they’re about to do. José finally tugs his boxers down and off, knuckles grazing the insides of James’s thighs. They’re rough, callused, and James can’t help but shiver at the thought of them. At the thought of how they’ll feel in—

“Good?” José asks, interrupting his stream of thoughts.

“Yeah,” James manages to croak out. 

José hums a little to himself, quiet enough that James can’t make out the tune, as he grabs the bottle of lube and squeezes a huge glob of it onto his hand. His hand is small enough, and his fingers are long and slim.

“Gonna be uncomfortable,” José interrupts. “Take deep breaths.” 

James closes his eyes and does as José tells him, drawing in a deep breath, then another. On the next lungful of air, James feels a slick finger run almost curiously in circles around his rim and press in.

James fights against the urge to move away. Not because it’s uncomfortable but because—well, he doesn’t know why. José is gentle, giving him time to adjust to—around—his finger, and it doesn’t hurt. And the urge to move away, to get out of the bed and go hide in the bathroom and will his hard-on away seizes him by the throat anyway.

“Hey. Relax.” José pauses, hand going still, and James feels infinitely silly with his hand just—just _there_. With his finger inside him. And here’s José, telling James to relax.

“I can’t do this,” James huffs, gripping at the comforter underneath him. 

“Hurts?” José asks.

“No. It’s just… It feels weird, but it’s fine.” James closes his eyes and sighs. “It feels fine.”

José starts to pull back, bit by bit. And that feels even stranger. “We can stop.”

“Wait.” James sits up and reaches down, grabbing José by the wrist. “Stop.”

“What you want? Go or stop?” José sounds bitchy now. James can’t really blame him. 

James closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath, then looks José in the eyes. Avoids looking at the hand between his legs. “Keep going. It’s okay. It’s fine.”

José tilts his head and looks at James like he’s a puzzle that needs to be put together. James isn’t sure he likes it. The feeling of being scrutinized.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” James lets go of his wrist and settles back down on the mattress.

“Mm, okay.” José pulls back a little more, anyway, and James is about to snap at him when he pushes back in.

He swallows down any and all protests. 

José pulls his hand away and squeezes a little more lube on his fingers. The stuff drips onto James’s ass unpleasantly and he feels José grope around, push some of it into him.


	5. Pity Blowjobs!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-explanatory.

José sighs and stares resentfully at his aching right wrist, which is currently wrapped in an Ace bandage and covered with a dripping ice pack. 

Who even sprains their wrist swinging a bat? 

Well. José does, apparently. He sighs again and resumes trying to button up his shirt one-handedly. 

The head trainer had gone off to give Brad and Al the X-rays of José’s wrist. Nothing too bad, besides the sprain. No tears, no breaks. He’ll probably be able to avoid a trip to the DL, too. José feels fortunate, feels blessed, all things considered. 

He moves the ice pack away from his wrist and squints down at it, at the damp, reddened skin of his wrist and the purple blotch that’s slowly spreading like ink in water. 

José decides to take a chance and tries to button up his shirt. A sharp stab of pain twinges in his wrist when he tries to twist it, and it radiates down his arm. 

The door to the training room opens with a hitch and José lifts his head. James leans against the door and peeks in, hand resting on the doorknob.

“Bus’s leavin’ for the hotel in a few,” he says, eyes shifting from José’s face down to his unbuttoned shirt and then the ice pack on his wrist. “You need some help?”

“McCannon, the Boy Scout,” José quips, digging his fingers into his thigh. “Didn’t think getting dressed would be so hard.”

James steps in and lets the door close gently behind him. “All right,” he says, coming over to the trainer’s table. He reaches for the tails of José’s button-down. “I kinda had the same problem when I busted my hand.”

“How you manage with just one hand?” José asks, as James bends his head and focuses intently on properly buttoning up José’s shirt. He chews on his bottom lip and then moves on to his tongue, the tip peeking out from between his lips.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised James is as intense about dressing a teammate as he is about playing baseball, but he kind of is.

“I wore a lot of T-shirts and sweatpants,” James says, with a laugh, as his fingers move deftly up the row of tiny white buttons on José’s shirt.

José sighs and wiggles his fingers. As long as he doesn’t try to move his wrist, the pain is nothing more than a dull ache. Dull aches he can deal with. “Could be worse,” he says, shrugging a shoulder.

James leaves off the last couple buttons of José’s shirt and smooths down the collar, fingers brushing against José’s neck. “Yeah. At least it’s not an oblique,” he says, sliding his hand away from José’s neck, down his shoulder to his elbow.

José raises his eyes and meets James’s gaze. “Yeah,” he agrees.

James runs his hand down José’s arm to the wet ice pack on his wrist. He lifts it and peers down at the bruise that’s forming there. 

“How’s it feel now?” James asks.

“Still bad,” José says. He kicks his heels against the legs of the trainer’s table. “Gonna need help tying my shoelaces. Feel like a kid again.”

James laughs and kneels down to retrieve José’s shoes. When he lifts his head, he catches José’s eye again. José reaches down to pet his damp brown hair, pushing it away from his forehead with gentle fingertips.

James wraps his fingers around José’s ankle and slips his shoe onto his foot. José watches his fingers fumble with the laces.

“Hey,” José says.

James looks up again. “Yeah?”

“I got another problem is gonna need some help.”

James lets go of José’s ankle, slipping his fingers away. “And what problem could that be?”

José tilts his head and gives James what he thinks is a meaningful look. He lifts his eyebrows for emphasis. 

“You’re gonna need to be a little more specific,” James quips.

José rolls his eyes. “Not so good getting myself off with the left hand,” he says, waving his fingers at James.

James just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’ll just have to suffer, I guess,” he says, lightly teasing, as he picks up José’s other shoe and slides it onto his dangling foot.

“Is not very nice of you,” José protests.

“Never said I was nice.” James finishes tying his laces and gets up, bracing a hand on the training table. His fingertips brush against José’s knee. 

“I’m hurt, you should feel bad for me,” José teases him.


	6. College Hookup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU set during James's college days. I started a different version of this that I like more.

James spots him across the dance floor, amidst sea of squirming, gyrating bodies. The strobe lights paint him in hues of red and blue and green and James just stands there, drink in hand, struck dumb. 

He just stands there and watches this guy dance to shitty club music with an attractive blonde wrapped in leather and lace. James isn’t interested in the girl, though she’s certainly pretty.

 _ **He’s** pretty_ , James thinks. 

He finishes off the last of his drink and puts the glass aside. When he turns back, the guy is still there on the floor, dancing, but the blonde is gone. 

James winds his way through the crowd toward him, steeled by whatever was in the drink he just finished off. He isn’t entirely sure what was in it, people pass him free drinks all the time.

James catches sight of the blond girl in the periphery, a couple shot glasses in hand. He bumps his shoulder the pretty guy, the guy he’d been watching, and pretends to be surprised. Apologetic.

“Hey, man, sorry ’bout that,” he says, turning on the Southern charm, flashing the guy a toothy grin. 

He turns and looks up at James, and maybe James had underestimated him. He’s certainly pretty, but he’s not as small and slender as James had originally thought. He’s solidly built, strong in the chest and upper arms. He keeps the big smile pasted on his face.

“Is okay,” the guy says, in a lilting accent. He nods and quirks a half-smile at James. 

James feels the toothy grin he’s wearing give way to a more genuine smile. “I’m James,” he says, gesturing to himself. “You?”

“José,” he says, flicking his eyes briefly over James’s shoulder. José looks back at him, with a mysterious little smile. “Can hardly hear a word. You wanna find another place for chat?”

“Sure, that sounds good,” James says. His heart starts thumping in his chest and his palms are suddenly clammy. 

He’s gonna fuck this guy. They’re gonna find some place—some dark, quiet place—and James is gonna fuck him.

José reaches out and pats James on the chest. “Gonna tell my friend don’t wait up. Okay?”

“Okay,” James says, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

José laughs and slips away to take the blonde by her arm. James watches as he leans in, whispers something in her ear. The girl nods, then looks over at James, her brassy blond hair swinging over her bare shoulder.

James nods at her. She looks back at José and says something, then gives him a quick hug before letting him go.

José keeps close to James as they make their way through the crowd on the dance floor. He’s warm and very close, and his breath is blowing hot against James’s neck. James feels the slide of his fingers over his hand and he looks down to see José grab his wrist. There’s a thick callus on his palm that scratches against James’s skin, and gives James ideas about what he could do with that callus.

James ends up leading them out of the club. The night air is still heavy and sticky with that day’s heat and he unbuttons the top button of his shirt. 

José is still standing—way too—close to James, shoulder brushing up against his. “So,” he says. “You come back to my place? Live around here. Not too far.”

James glances at him and tugs at the skin under his neck. “I dunno, I’ve got somewhere to be in the morning,” he hedges. 

It’s not exactly a lie. He’s got a ten A.M. flight to Kentucky to visit his girlfriend. He shouldn’t be picking up some guy at a nightclub, shouldn’t be going home with him to do God only knows what. 

He’s not coming up with compelling enough reasons to turn José’s offer down though.

José moves in closer, smirking a little now. Like he knows he’s got James on tenterhooks. “Call a cab in the morning, then.”

“I, uh, okay.” James nods, eagerly, leaning in like he’s going to kiss him, but José steps back. 

“Not on the street,” he says, laughing. 

It’s not exactly a nice laugh, but… James kind of likes it. There’s the promise of something in that sharp little laugh that sends a thrill of heat rolling down James’s spine.

James goes home with him. He really shouldn’t. He should be resting up at his hotel or texting his girlfriend, or at least praying. He’ll be on his knees tonight at some point, at least.

(He shouldn’t find that thought so amusing, but he does.)

José drives them to his place. It’s a nice place, a big, sprawling ranch with a perfectly manicured lawn and willow trees all over the property, draped with Spanish moss. James wonders what José does for a living that he can afford this kind of house. He doesn’t seem much older than James. Heck, he might even be _younger_ than James. 

José quickly bypasses a heavy-duty alarm system and lets them in. James gets hit right in the face with a blast of chilly, processed air. José toes off a pair of expensive looking leather loafers and James follows suit, stooping down to tug off his boots. 

Now that he’s seeing José up close, he realizes he's so much _more_ than James initially thought. The shirt he’s got on definitely costs more than the monthly paycheck James earns pushing around a cart of books at the college library back in Fayetteville. James doesn’t even need to check the tag sewn into the collar to know that.

“You come upstairs? Or you want for me to wine and dine you first?” José teases.

“A little finesse goes a long way,” James says, trying to sound cool, collected. His voice wavers, just a touch, though, and the corners of José’s eyes crinkle.

“All right. Come on, then.” José grabs James by the hand and pulls him up the stairs to his room.

James imagines José’s bedroom is probably the size of his dorm room. He doesn’t even want to think about it. About how José occupies all this _space_ , fills it up and owns it with the bat of an eyelash.

José guides him to the bed and James sits down on the end of it. They haven’t talked about what they want to do, what either of them expect out of this night. They’re playing it by ear, James thinks

José smiles at him, then lifts his arms and tugs off his expensive shirt. He tosses it carelessly on the floor in a heap.

James can’t help but stare.

José’s not pretty. He’s _beautiful_.

He must have a dopey exception on his face because José rolls his eyes at him and huffs. 

“Now you take your shirt off. Or am I gonna have to do it for you?” he asks, with a slight pout.

James fiddles with the cuffs and looks up at him. “I dunno. Might need some help here.”

“Sad.” José sighs and tugs at the front of James’s shirt, popping open the row of tiny white buttons. He pushes the shirt off James’s shoulders and eases him back, a hand on his chest.

James sinks into the mattress as José’s hand reaches for his belt. There’s a pause, then a soft laugh.

“What?” James asks, bristling.

“Your belt. It’s…tacky.” José opens the big brass buckle and pulls the belt from James’s belt loops before he can protest.

“Hey—” James reaches for it but José swats his hand away.

“I can find a use for this,” he says, in that teasing tone from earlier.

James lets his hand fall. “What d’you mean by that.”

“Whatever you want it to mean.” José swings the belt in his hand and James can’t help it, he flinches even though he doesn’t come anywhere close to striking him. José slides his eyes over James slowly, way too curiously.

“What?” James fights the urge to pull his shirt back on and cover up. Something—some tight, uncomfortable feeling James struggles to swallow around—knots around his throat.

“How far you been with a guy? You’re just a kid,” José says, shuffling closer. He puts the belt aside and the tight feeling in James’s throat loosens and fades.

“I’m probably older than you are,” James retorts, relieved to be back on steadier ground.

“So, answer my question.” José strokes a hand over James’s blue jean clad thigh. 

James shrugs and stares up at the ceiling. “I’m not exactly, like, wavin’ a rainbow flag from my dorm room or anything. But I’ve been with guys before.”

He’s been with two guys, but José doesn’t need to know that. 

When most people find out he was born in SoCal, they can hardly believe it.


	7. #RallyDildos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has nothing to do with José Iglesias.

The dildos are Leonys’s idea. Really, who else’s could they be? 

One day there are no dildos in the clubhouse and then the next day, there are a pair of three-foot-long schlongs sticking out of Nick’s locker and no one knows where the hell they came from or how the hell they got there.

(Leonys probably does, but he isn’t saying.)

Nick pulls both of them out of his locker and makes a face at them before chucking the brown one at James’s face and keeping the black one for himself.

“Dude, watch where you’re wavin’ those things.” James ducks the flying dildo and it ends up smacking a passing Niko Goodrum in the side of the head.

Goodrum looks around and rubs the back of his head, then spots the dildo lying on the carpet next to him. James kind of wishes he had a camera to record the face journey he goes on.

“Man, I don’t even wanna fucking know.” He waves Nick off dismissively and continues on to his locker.

“It’s Nick, man. Says it all, don’t it?” James says, kicking the dildo over to Matt Boyd’s locker. 

It rolls into Boyd’s heel and he looks down, squinting at it for a few seconds before it registers that he’s staring at a three-foot-long dildo and he lets out a comically high-pitched scream. 

“Haven’t you ever seen a cock before?” Nick scoffs, sounding personally offended as he marches over and retrieves the dildo. 

“Yes, I’ve seen cocks before,” Boyd snaps back at him. 

Someone shouts, “That’s what she said!” from the back of the clubhouse and Boyd looks around, eyes narrowing, like a hound sniffing out a bomb. 

“I heard that,” he shouts back.

“Good, you were supposed to,” is the reply.


	8. Hooker AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one stalled out. 
> 
> James's family in this one are OCs.

James likes to think that—in another lifetime, in another universe—he could have been a damn good ballplayer. 

Like most of the boys on his block, James had grown up with a glove on one hand and a baseball in the other. Some of them took it to the next level, went from the sandlots to varsity, to college and, occasionally, to the minor pros. The indy leagues. Nobody in James’s neck of the woods had ever made it all the way to the big leagues, but he likes to think that he could have been the _one_.

No, he had to make his way through the world by other means. Still though, it didn’t keep him from thinking about how things could have been different. Just one little misstep here, or a misstep there and maybe he’s the starting catcher on a contending baseball team instead of what he _is_.

Everyone has their calling though, that one thing they’re born to do, and for James, baseball just wasn’t—still isn’t—it.

***

The town he grew up in is so small, everybody knows everybody else’s business. Always seemed like the neighbor ladies knew when his daddy didn’t come home after work, or that Ma didn’t really trip and fall face-first into the doorknob that one time. Or those other times before and after it. 

James grew up thinking all eyes were on him and, in a way, they were. Just not in the way he’d imagined as a kid, when he was still dreaming of playing ball under those big, bright lights.

Small towns like the one where he grew up suffocate like a wet blanket. Everybody who doesn’t get out, doesn’t get free, ends up dying there. James can trace back from himself to his daddy to his great-great-great-grandaddy in a long line of ambitious men with big dreams who never got out.

James made up his mind real early on that he’d never let himself get trapped like his daddy and his grandpa, and all the McCann men that came before.

Even if he wasn’t going to be a ballplayer, he’d do whatever he had to. 

Some way or another, James would get out of this place.

***

The eve of his eighteenth birthday, James grabbed all the money out of the shoebox under Daddy and Ma’s bed and bought himself a bus ticket to glamorous, glitzy Miami. 

All his stuff—not all the stuff he owns, just the stuff he cared enough about to take with him—was already packed in a black nylon duffel. James could hear Ma downstairs puttering around the kitchen, humming some popular country tune over the clang of pots and pans. Ma was probably getting started on birthday dinner. James almost wished he could stick around before he steeled his resolve and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.

He could hear his brothers—Jesse and Caleb—in the family room, playing some shoot-’em-up video game Daddy brought home. James’s chest ached a little. Not so much at leaving his brothers behind, but more at the fact that they had to live in a house where a stupid video game was considered a luxury.

James closed the door to the bedroom he shared with his brother, turning his back on that part of his life. 

For good, for keeps, no looking back. All the times before, James was always looking for some reason to come back. This time he really did mean it.

James crept down the stairs with weightless, light steps, balancing all his weight on the tips of his toes, avoiding the places on the stairs he knew made the most noise.

Ma’s voice got louder, grew clearer, and James was close enough could make out the words to her song. He paused in the doorway and peeked in. Ma was standing at the sink with a mixing bowl, flour all over her nose and cheeks. A thin layer coated her blonde hair like dust. She looked so beautiful that James, just for a split second, thought about laying down his bag and going to her. But something clutched in his chest, warning him not to.

Footsteps started pounding and James tightened his hand around the strap of his bag. He ducked out of the doorway just as Jesse lumbered in, with little Caleb nipping at his heels.

Jesse grabbed a couple glasses from the cupboard and headed over to the fridge. “Jimmy come home yet?” Jesse tossed over his shoulder at Ma, yanking out a plastic jug of orange juice and thumping it down on the counter.

“Haven’t seen ’im all day,” Ma said, wiping flour from her nose with the back of her hand. “He must be hangin’ out with his buddies or somethin’.”

“Think he’ll like what me and Caleb picked out for him?” Jesse poured both himself and Caleb glasses of pulpy orange juice.

“I think he’ll love it,” Ma said, reaching up to chuck Jesse on the cheek.

James cursed under his breath at that and crept even deeper into the shadows under the stairwell, muscles taut and tensed for his escape. He backed away from the doorway and turned, running smack into his father’s broad, barrel chest.

“Where d’you think you’re off to?” Daddy tugged at the bag slung over James’s shoulder.

James yanked the bag back. “Got a ticket to Florida,” he said, raising his chin defiantly.

“What the hell’re you gonna do in Florida you can’t do here?” Daddy asked, scoffing almost dismissively.

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Gettin’ outta here’s the whole point,” James said, coolly.

“Your ma and I raised you to be better than that,” Daddy said.

“Better than what,” he asked, incredulity leeching into his voice. “Thought you’d be proud of me for finally decidin’ to grab my things and go.”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “We raised you to be better than to run out on your family.” Daddy crossed his arms over his chest and looks over James’s head.

“Jim, what’s goin’ on?” 

James spun around. Ma and the boys were standing in the doorway, staring. Ma wiped her hands on her apron and smoothed back her silvery blonde hair.

“Nothin’ dear,” Daddy called out to her. “Just havin’ a talk with the boy.” He clapped a big hand down on James’s shoulder and gave him a deceptively friendly shake. “You go on and finish up the birthday dinner and we’ll continue this out on the porch.”

Daddy tightened his hand on James’s shoulder and pulled him outside, slamming the screen door behind them. When they were safely out of Ma and the boys’ hearing range, Daddy started laying into him. 

“Your ma and I done everything we could for you—and this’s how you repay us? By runnin’ off somewhere?” Daddy flared. “Boy, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

James tossed his bag down between their feet and crossed his arms over his chest. He was almost as tall as the man now, so he wasn’t as intimidated as he was when he was younger. He stepped in and didn’t even try to deny the small shiver of satisfaction that trickled down his spine when Daddy backed up.

“I’m sick and tired of this fuckin’ place. Nobody ever gets out, not unless they die. And I ain’t about to let that be me.”

“You’re talkin’ crazy,” Daddy snapped.

“You’re only sayin’ that ’cause none of us have ever got out before.” James paused, considering his words, studying Daddy under the dim, flickering porch-light. He looked sallow, washed out. _Tired_. “I’m goin’ to Florida. There ain’t nothin’ you can do to stop me either.”

Daddy stared at him, his eyes hardening and the lines at the corners of his mouth deepening. “You set foot off this porch, don’t you even think ’bout comin’ back. Hear me?”

James slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and offered Daddy a smirk. “ ’s what I was hopin’ you’d say,” he said.

Daddy let out a growl and took a swing at him for that. James ducked, leaping off the porch and hitting the ground running. The gravel crunched under the soles of his sneakers and he could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears as he ran. He could also hear Ma’s voice at his back, Daddy’s falsely soothing tone trying to restrain her, trying to hold her back.

“Jimmy— _Jimmy_!” 

James heard fear ripping at the seams of her voice.

He didn’t look back.

James headed east, not even daring to pause a second to look back. The Bible story about Lot’s wife, turned into a pillar of salt the instant she looked back at her burning homeland, popped up in his mind, urging his legs to move faster.

It wasn’t until he spotted the tiny gray bus shudder to a standstill that he stopped running. James’s chest was tight and his heart was beating against his ribcage like a hummingbird batting its wings against a plane of glass. He decided it was finally safe to look back and he did—he could see a tiny speck of light in the distance. It seemed to pulse at him, beckoning him to come back home.

He turned and walked purposefully toward the waiting bus.

*** 

James simply faded in amongst the many nameless faces once he made it to Miami. No one even gave him a first look, let alone a second as he wandered around the busiest section of downtown Miami with bright eyes. Maybe Miami was used to kids whose hometowns were too small to hold them. 

The people he passed by on the streets gave him friendly, open looks. They looked hard-bitten as James felt, prematurely aged men and women with weathered faces, papery skin, sunken-in eyes. 

One of the women he passed by was wearing a dirty off-white fur coat, diamond-encrusted hands poised on a jauntily cocked hip. When she caught sight of him she smiled, tossed her head back and licked her ruby-red lips. 

She was a reasonably attractive woman with shoulder length blonde hair, a pretty red mouth, and shapely hips, but James didn’t trust the set of her eyes—too close together to be trustworthy, as Ma used to say. James just gave her a small smile and walked on, his duffel bag thumping against the middle of his back.


	9. Infidelity Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a long epic _thing_ , but it stalled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Additional notes:** James's wife and kids are mentioned.

James spends Christmas with Jess and the twins in the intensive care unit at the hospital, and then it’s right back to his offseason workouts, strict training regimens, and preparation for the upcoming season. Then it’ll be time for TigerFest in Detroit and, eventually, off to Lakeland for Spring Training.

The thing is, James has never been this distracted before. All he can think about is Jess lying in a tiny bed in a tiny room, decorated with paper snowflakes, a paltry fake tree sitting on the windowsill. She can’t even hold onto their babies because they spend most of the time in intensive care, growing and getting stronger, until the day James and Jess can finally take them home. 

It’s a necessary evil, they both understand that, but that doesn’t make it easier to deal with. And James knows Jess is having a hard time coping. At least she has a fleet of nurses to take care of her when James can’t be by her bedside.

James hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately either, jerking awake at the slightest sound, his fight-or-flight response going into overdrive. Or he sleeps right on through his alarm because he hasn’t been getting enough sleep and he’s late to the trainer’s or the gym and he’s already so behind he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to catch up.

That isn’t even taking into account the guilt he feels at leaving Jess and the twins at the hospital to get on with the rest of his life, while they’re stuck in stasis. Jess will spend a few more weeks at the hospital before she’s sent home too, but he knows she doesn’t want to go anywhere her babies aren’t. James saw how much it tore her up inside that first day, when the two of them watched over the babies in their incubators, connected to all kinds of tubes and wiring and machines and monitors. 

James knows the longer Jess is away, the more likely he is to stray from God’s righteous path. Jess has always been the more devout between the two of them, her gentle hand guiding James toward salvation and keeping him from straying. Without her by his side, he knows he’s at risk. Perhaps it’s selfish of him to rely on Jess to keep him on the straight and narrow path. It’s lazy and irresponsible, too, and he’s putting too much on Jess and not enough on himself. 

That doesn’t make it any less true, though. 

He can already see the cracks and fissures that have opened up since he’s been on his own. He and Jess had read scripture together every morning and prayed together every night since they first started dating. James hasn’t picked up his bible once since he’s been home from the hospital. He supposes he could call her up and they could read to each other over the phone, but she has more important things to be worrying about right now.

Jess comes back from the hospital a few weeks later, looking haggard and tired and haunted. James wishes he could do more for her, to sooth and comfort her. When he reaches out and tries to touch her, though, she flinches and pulls away. Trying to get her to eat is like pulling teeth, same with bathing and brushing her teeth. When she’s not sleeping—sometimes ten hours a day or more—she’s watching TV with a glazed-over look in her once bright, lively eyes. 

He thinks she might be depressed, but when he brings it up she just waves him off dismissively.


	10. Teach Me to Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Teach me to fight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[ **blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/) prompted me this but I've finally accepted I'm not going to finish it.

“Teach me to fight.”

Ian looks up from his iPhone and gives José a look, one eyebrow arching. “Teach you to _what_?” he echoes.

“I wanna learn to fight,” José says, putting up his fists and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You scrappy, get your nose dirty. Show me how?”

Ian shakes his head. “Is this about Mac getting in your face in the dugout?” Ian asks.

José frowns and drops his fists. “If I say ‘yes’ are you gonna teach?”

“No,” Ian says.

“Then no.” José clasps his hands under his chin as if in prayer. “Please, Ian? You help, I make it worth you while.”

“Are you offering me sex so I’ll teach you how to fight so you can beat up a teammate?”

José frowns. “When you say it like that it sounds dumb.”

Ian says nothing, just raises his eyebrows again.

Point taken.

“He just… Get in my skin!” José grumbles, clenching his hands into fists again.

“Beating him up isn’t going to help much,” Ian says. “He’s got almost half a foot of height on you.”

“I _am_ five-eleven!” José narrows his eyes at Ian.

“Five-nine, at the most,” Ian counters.

José glares at him, his jaw tightening. 

“No, I’m not gonna help you learn how to fight. Why don’t you just, like… I dunno, make nice with him?” Ian asks.

“Then he _win_ ,” José says, looking affronted, his eyes widening in horror.

Ian sighs and rubs at his temples. “Sometimes you gotta lose the battle to win the…” He trails off when José pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts flipping through Instagram. “You’re not even listening to me anymore, are you?”

José looks up from his phone. “No. Is boring.”

Ian sighs and rubs his hand over his chin. “All right, fine. Come back with me after the game and I’ll teach you some techniques,” he says. He makes a face like he just sucked on a lemon, his nose wrinkling.

José jumps in and gives Ian a quick hug and darts away before he can lash out at him.

***

Ian pushes open the door to his place and quickly disarms the security system. José slips in behind him and nudges the door shut with a quiet click.

“Don’t touch anything,” Ian barks, jabbing a finger at José. “Especially not the artwork. I don’t own any of it.”

“Then who _does_?” José asks, glancing at a framed painting hanging slightly askew on the wall. He contemplates reaching out and touching it just to test Ian.

“The guy I’m renting from,” Ian says. “You break it, you buy it.”

José says nothing to that. He follows Ian into the kitchen where he grabs a couple beers out of the fridge, passing one—along with a coaster—to José.

José twists off the cap and takes a slug. “So, you gonna show me or no?”

Ian lances José with a sharp look. “You gonna let me enjoy my postgame beer before I whoop your ass or not?” he snarks.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. **If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.**


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